was tagged quite some time ago by the lovely @emberstormrage and I have been an unconscionable slugâbut here is a brief snapshot of a morning in camp:
Lily and Laeâzel are already at it when the sun climbs over the horizonâLily because elves only require four hours of rest, and Laeâzel because she is, in the strictest technical sense, a maniac.
Blades ring out in the cool morning air as they circle one another, steel flashing: Lily all grace and humming bladesong, Laeâzel answering with the sharp, brutal efficiency of githyanki war magic.
Wyll wakes at the first clash of steel, instinct dragging him upright before thought can catch up. Years spent roaming the wilds as a monster hunter have trained him wellânoise like that is never a good sign. He pads closer, watches a moment, then exhales slowly.
âWell,â he murmurs under his breath, arms folding, âthat looks like as much foreplay as it does swordplay.â
Lily nearly misses a parry laughing. Laeâzel bares her teeth at him without missing a step.
Nearby, a tent rustles with deep offense.
âMorning,â Gale announces to no one in particular, from somewhere within the folds of canvas, âis an entirely arbitrary construct of the material plane.â
He emerges moments later disheveled, hair doing something defiant, robe half-fastened, blinking while rubbing sleep from his eyes. He ambles toward the fire, muttering that unseen servants really ought to be handling breakfast, that he should be finishing that book on necromantic wardingâidly wondering if it works on vampires.
Nonethelessânonethelessâhe is quite proud of what heâs managed to scrape together.
Honey. Wild berries. Clean herbs. A carefully controlled ferment.
Mead, yesâbut practical mead.
He busies himself with the cups, shoulders straightening, dignity returning. He steps deliberately into the center of camp now, posture improved, setting a cup aside and lifting the pitcher as though addressing a lecture hall rather than a gathering of muddy, half-awake adventurers.
âYou see,â he begins, tapping the pitcher with scholarly emphasis, âmead has a long and respected history as a public good. In many regions of FaerĂťn, fermentation was the only reliable method for rendering water safe to drink. Entire civilizations endured because someone, somewhere, decided berries plus honey plus time was preferable to dysentery.â
He pours himself a measured cup. Takes a careful sip. Nods, pleased.
âThis batch improves upon that venerable tradition. Light ferment for safety, yesâbut also nutritional density. Herbs. Antioxidants. Itâs essentially a morning restorative.â
And that is when a large, warm hand closes around the pitcher.
There is exactly one heartbeat of silence.
Karlach tilts it back and drains it. All of it. No hesitation. No mercy. A little spills down her chin; she wipes it away with the back of her hand, glowing as though the sun itself has personally endorsed her choices.
âAHHH,â she sighs blissfully. âBEER FOR BREAKFAST.â
She grins at Gale, radiant.
âGALE. YOUâRE A GENIUS.â
Gale stares at the now-empty pitcher, his cup still untouched in his other hand, as though his thesis has just been eaten by an extremely cheerful barbarian.
âThat wasââ he manages faintly. âThat was measured. I had plans for that.â
Karlach claps him on the shoulder hard enough to jostle his soul. âYeah! And if your plan was âmake Karlach happyâ? Wowânailed it.â
She hands the pitcher back, still smiling.
âBit fruity. Could use more fire.â
Gale accepts it automatically, peering into its emptiness.
âIt was,â he says weakly, âfor everyone.â
From the sparring ring, Lily is laughing openly now, nearly breathless. Wyll plants his hands on his hips, mournful.
âSo much for beer with breakfast.â
Laeâzel snorts, which might be approval.
Karlach stretches, already vibrating with joy.
âSo! Whoâs ready to fight?â
Gale exhales, adjusts his robe, and mutters to himself, âRemarkable metabolism. I should be horrified.â
He pauses, glances at the now-energized tiefling.
ââŚIâll make two batches next time.â
Shadowheart decides to make a supply run to the grove.
Scratch rises the moment she does, tail already wagging, clearly under the impression that this was his idea all along. She gives him a nod and a quiet word, and he pads along at her side with perfect, trusting devotionâno tether required.
The path toward Aaronâs is calm, filtered sunlight breaking through the leaves. Birds gossip. Leaves whisper. The farther she gets from ringing steel and breakfast lectures, the more her shoulders ease.
She kneels beside her pack to check her supplies.
Her fingers still. She checks again. Slower this time. Then a third.
The diamond is gone. Not misplaced. Not buried beneath gauze. Gone.
Her mouth tightens. Shar teaches vigilance for a reason.
She straightens slowly and looks upâ
Astarion sits on a fallen log a short distance away, bathed in sunlight heâs clearly enjoying far too much, the coin purse open in his lap. Gold glints between his fingers as he counts, stacking it neatly, reverentlyâlike a devotion ritual to very different gods.
Scratch, traitor that he is, wags his tail. Shadowheart folds her arms.
âFunny thing,â she says coolly. âI seem to be missing a diamond worth three hundred gold.â
Astarion doesnât look up. âAh,â he says pleasantly. âThat is funny.â
âI keep that for reviving people.â
âMm. Very noble.â He taps a stack straight. âI keep mine for boots.â
She steps closer. âYou took it.â
Astarion finally looks up, eyes bright, smile lazy.
âTook is such an unkind word.â
âWhat if someone dies, Astarion?â Her jaw tightens.
He opens his mouthâalready smilingâthen pauses. ââŚIâm already dead.â
She gives him a look that could peel paint.
âOh,â he adds lightly, waving a hand, âyou mean someone whoâs not meâŚ..I merely borrowed it,â he continues. âTemporarily reallocated. Liberated.â
Scratch sits between them, deeply invested.
Astarion sighs theatrically and produces the diamond, holding it so it catches the light.
âHonestly,â he says, âif youâre carrying this around unsecured, someone was bound to notice. And Lily said I could have new boots.â
He tilts his head, entirely sincere.
âI have dainty feet. High arches. This is an investment in morale.â
She snatches the diamond from his hand.
âYouâre impossible.â
âFrequently,â he agrees, tucking the coin purse away as he rises.
Astarion reappears at camp just as the morning settles into itself.
Training resumes. Karlach stretches. Gale is lecturing no one in particular about the tragedy of depleted resources.
Astarion crosses the camp without so much as disturbing a blade of grass, sunlight catching on boots so dark they drink the morning wholeâsleek, drow-made, silver runes dimming as if they, too, know they are incriminating.
Gale squints. Then frowns. Then squints harder.
âYou appear to be wearing,â Gale says carefully, ânew boots.â
Before Gale can build momentum, Astarion veersâcasual, unhurriedâtoward Lily. From somewhere improbably concealed on his person, he produces a small paper-wrapped parcel and unfolds it with ceremony.
Inside: a delicate pastry. Honeyed. Flaky. Excessively indulgent.
âFor you,â he says lightly, placing it in her hands. âKnicked it from the inn at Waukeenâs Rest. During the confusion of the raid. They were tragically overstocked.â
Lilyâs eyes brighten. âAstarionââ
âEat it before Karlach sees it,â he advises gently.
Gale inhales. âTheyâre enchanted,â he continues, valiantly reclaiming the thread. âDrow craft. Superior make. Extremely expensive.â
âYes,â Astarion agrees. âTheyâre divine.â
Lily smiles, biting in to her pastry. âThey suit you.â
Gale turns to her slowly.
âYou let him guard the coin purse?â
Lily blinks. âWell. Yes.â
Gale makes a small, wounded sound.
âThat was rhetorical,â he says softly. âI was hoping youâd say no.â
Astarion sighs. Loudly. Irritated now.
âOhâugh, really? Calm yourself.â He snorts. âI drained a drow outside Waukeenâs Rest. He just happened to have lovely, almost-new boots.â
âYou killed someone for a pair of boots?â Wyll asks, horrified.
Astarion rolls his eyes, touching his pinky to the corner of his mouth.
âNo. I killed someone for breakfast. He was part of the raiding party, therefore a villain, and thus does not violate my no innocents agreement.â
âThe boots were just a bonus.â
Karlach nods. âThat tracks.â
Gale presses his fingertips together like a man steadying a collapsing bridge.
âSo,â he says carefully, âyou are assuring me thatââ
âThe gold is untouched.â
ââour continued survivalââ
ââhas not been converted into footwear?â
Astarion smiles thinly. âWhat sort of monster do you take me for?â
He paused. ââŚDonât answer that.â
Lily dusts pastry crumbs from her fingers, still smiling.
âBreakfast was lovely.â
Tagging @babydinosaur930 @lilhumanoid @fireflyeyes @dr4gonwriter
